


Floodgates

by LadyLuckDoubt



Category: Gyakuten Saiban | Ace Attorney
Genre: Gavincest, Incest, M/M, Phoenix Wright Kink Meme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-18
Updated: 2011-03-18
Packaged: 2017-10-17 02:05:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/171810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyLuckDoubt/pseuds/LadyLuckDoubt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>State v Enigmar</i> and Phoenix's disbarment has shaken both of the Gavin brothers in its own subtle way. Just afterwards, Klavier seeks an odd and rather unorthodox comfort with Kristoph.</p><p>Obviously, here be incest. (There's no specific warning up, there, but I figured just in case someone missed it; yes, this fic contains incest. If this isn't your cup of tea, avert your eyes now.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Floodgates

**Author's Note:**

> _i'm playing gs4 and seeing phoenix breaks my heart ;______;._
> 
>  _ANYWAY. WHERE IS THE GAVINCEST GUYS._
> 
> Such a generic request, and I'd never written Gavincest before, so I figured I should change that.

The mood surrounding then was much too sombre for celebratory drinks. Nonetheless, Klavier had won his first case and they were drinking; both were silent for the most part, lost in their own contemplation of the day. 

Perhaps the drinking wasn't making merriment to celebrate a job well done; perhaps it was the toasting and marking of an ordeal being  _over_. Tomorrow morning they could both wake up and be onto new things, new cases-- Kristoph had reassured Klavier that he'd see to Wright and inquire about his state of mind on Wednesday-- give him a couple of days to calm down, hit bottom and start rebuilding himself; tomorrow morning the whole mess involving the Grammaryes would be history, noted by the media and filed away in the court records, awaiting archival once forgotten.

They'd move beyond this.

The air around them was stiff and tense in spite of the darkness. The only light near them was the cool blue glare from the abandoned laptop monitor on the coffee table, its hues changing with the movement of the screensaver, the fluid blue bouncing off the furniture, the walls, and off Klavier's face, sharpening his features and hiding part of his face in shadow. Kristoph sat outside its glare, but could see the discomfort on his brother's face.

His younger brother did not look like a man who'd just tasted a first, sweet victory against a well-known and successful attorney. He looked bothered; as though something didn't quite fit, yet he lacked the experience and vocabulary to discuss what it was and to pinpoint it. 

"Is something wrong,  _bruderlein_?"

Klavier's nose wrinkled, as it always tended to before he was about to cry. It had been a sweet, endearing childhood trait of his, never entirely lost when he went away to school for the term, just hidden amongst other gestures and Klavier's love for the theatrical. He now tilted his head or grabbed the sunglasses; for a young man who usually thought nothing of sharing his emotions with the world-- grief-- and vulnerability-- were different.

Kristoph was probably the only person still allowed to see them.

"Klavier..."

"It doesn't feel... like I thought it would," Klavier admitted weakly. He turned slightly, facing Kristoph, the shadows moving across his face, shrouding him in darkness, leaving only his hair to reflect the neon blue glow. "I worked for this; I lived for today, and now..." 

He paused, trying to read his brother's face. It seemed like an insult to admit this to Kristoph, that his debut as a lawyer wasn't what he'd expected, that he didn't get that rush and that thrill Kristoph had assured him he'd have. Kristoph had helped him prepare for the bar exam, helped him study and gain experience; he'd done so much, put so much into him-- that it made Klavier feel guilty; a spoilt child who couldn't appreciate what had been provided to him. Perhaps he'd have felt differently if the outcome of the trial had been different, if chaos hadn't ensued, if Wright hadn't...

He didn't want to think about Wright. Since deciding that he'd wanted a legal career--of some sort-- (Kristoph had suggested that he'd be an asset around the office, but Klavier wanted to stand on his own two feet and that had made the decision for him-- he would be a prosecutor, he wouldn't be lazily riding on the success of his brother's name)-- he'd known about Wright, his charisma and presence and almost theatrical courtroom ability. Wright had been a vague hero. And now, with a piece of evidence Klavier couldn't quite figure out why he had-- Kristoph was only offering assistance, only wanted to see him do well-- Wright had been toppled.

"What do you mean by that?" 

Kristoph couldn't see the deflated look on his face, but he knew the tone of voice all too well and the movement; the way Klavier would turn away, uncomfortable with showing a face which wasn't bright and confident. His own voice was gentle; sturdy and reassuring-- once again he was being the responsible, cool older brother, their rock.  _The Wind Beneath My Wings_ , Klavier thought wryly, wondering if he wouldn't have to worry about this for much longer if his music career surpassed his courtroom one-- perhaps, one day, he could dedicate ballads-- neutral and  _friendly_ , of course-- to his older brother. Maybe he could invite him to VIP parties and allow him to seduce groupies and...

He still hadn't answered the question.

"I did not expect to destroy a man's career," he said.

"I didn't expect Wright would do that to himself, either," Kristoph said gently. "But sometimes men do what we least expect. People can disappoint us,  _bruder_ , which is why we need to appreciate those who truly understand us and remain by our sides." 

He smiled then, stretching an arm out to affectionately pat his leg-- Kristoph always looked close to  _pained_  when people touched him—even when their  _parents_  did, Klavier had noticed-- but something was different when it came to him. There was an openness, trust--  _something_. Usually it felt nice to know that he was different in Kristoph's eyes, but for now, it just intensified his sense of guilt.

"I will always appreciate you." There was a lump in his throat, a fear-- that what if Kristoph found out about his reservations and hated him-- would his older brother resent him for choosing music over law? The silly option over the sensible one? The short-lived flash-in-the-pan career over the one which could stay with him for a lifetime and beyond if he played his cards right? He bit back the beginnings of tears. Whatever happened, Kristoph had been there all along, had supported him, had looked after him-- had loved him-- and asked for nothing beyond a decent effort applied to what he attempted and obedience when it was in his interests. And he was happy to provide that; Kristoph was never wrong. Sometimes he resented it, but it always played out for the best.

“I will always appreciate  _you_.” He rubbed his hand against the fabric of Klavier’s pants. “You performed well today.”

“Well... thankyou.” Still choked with emotion, he paused. 

“You’ve been the only one who’s ever...”

“Nonsense,” Kristoph uttered lightly. “You have friends—you have your rock band and Daryan and your associates down at the precinct...”

“But that’s not like... this.” Was there hesitation in his voice? Unspoken an indescribable intensity which couldn’t be put into words? Klavier cast his gaze downwards, ashamed. He was right about one thing, the relationship with Kristoph wasn’t at all like any of the others, and in the past few months, he’d held suspicions that it was the same for Kristoph, too. 

“Like  _what_ , bruderlein?” And he asked so innocently. 

His hand was still absentmindedly rubbing that spot on his leg, affectionate in an almost parental manner—but the relationship wasn’t entirely parental, either. Nor was it fraternal; sometimes it felt like it was just the two of them—brilliant outsiders who had no one else who really understood them—against the rest of the world.

Klavier gulped. In a moment of vulnerability such as this, he could be honest, couldn’t he—he could write the whole thing off tomorrow morning to first-time nerves and possibly one drink too many and overwhelming emotion and confusion, some sort of growing up rite of passage or somesuch—surely Kristoph would understand...?

“I love you,” he murmured. “More than anything or anyone I’ve known.”

Kristoph turned his head slightly, obscuring himself in shadow. “I love you too, Klavier,” he said dryly. His hand stopped abruptly as though he was caught in the act of doing something lewd. “More than you’ll ever know.”

Klavier felt his face tighten, and nudged his brother with his foot. “That felt nice,” he complained. “And you just...  _stopped_.”

“Perhaps it would be better if you just went to bed, Klavier. You’ve had a long day and...”

“ _No_.” He rose from his seat and moved over to the sofa where Kristoph was sitting, wordlessly moving towards him, arms outstretched for a hug. “You used to be more affectionate towards me, Kristoph,” he whined. 

“And now...”

He felt his older brother try to squirm away from his touch. But he couldn’t; Klavier’s hold on him was tight, and there was no way Kristoph would struggle noticeably. No; that would be undignified.

He sighed as he felt Kristoph’s body slacken against his own, and he moved in closer towards him, nuzzling at his neck awkwardly. He was surprised when Kristoph didn’t protest, didn’t flinch away, didn’t stiffen and admonish him for such foolishness. “I love you,” he murmured somewhere near his ear, feeling soft, sunlight-coloured hair brush against his cheek, inhaling Kristoph’s scent of books and inoffensively breezy cologne. “You have no idea.”

He felt Kristoph tense again at the words, but curiously, there was no flinching away this time. And then there was a hand, sturdy and softer than his own, cradling the back of his neck, fingers intertwining with his hair—why had he cut it again?—it was some sort of rebellious action against his brother, wasn’t it?—and the uncomfortable pinch of fine metal and glass against his face, which he could endure—because it was  _him_.

“Neither do you.” Kristoph’s voice was a low, sad whisper against him, and Klavier was aware of moisture—was  _he_  crying, was Kristoph?—against his face.

He hated the idea of his older brother crying; Kristoph  _didn’t_  cry about anything,  _ever_ , and now here they were, lost in translation with tears and a world of strange unspoken agony between them.

He kissed him lightly, tenderly, the gesture feeling like betrayal. All of a sudden he’d grown up, he understood the true human misery of love, its brutal sense of humour and its unfairness. Love wasn’t about tenderness and longing, innocent teenage romanticism and pathetic misunderstandings, love was whatever  _this_  was—damaged and despicable and unspeakable and a loyalty and a secrecy which shouldn’t be acted upon. 

He heard a soft murmur against him, and pulled away slightly. 

“Bruderlein...” Kristoph removed his glasses and folded them, reaching down and placing them on the floor. “This is... we can’t do this.” Already his genius mentor had understood. “It would be...  _wrong_.”

And Klavier watched as his index finger reached up to wipe what must have been a tear away from his face.

He didn’t protest when Klavier embraced him again, though, burying his face into his shoulder and his hair, inhaling the scent of whatever that brand of shampoo was that he always used. He didn’t move away or complain as Klavier’s fingertips met one another at his back then released, holding him there with one arm as the other hand moved upwards to make their way through the mass of golden hair, rubbing against his scalp.

“I’m sorry,” he offered weakly, a pre-emptive apology as his lips met Kristoph’s briefly, his hand caressing his hair, tears now running down his face. “I’m so sorry...”

“Shhh...” 

It was testament to his brother’s kindness that he wasn’t angry, that he didn’t scold him, that he merely whispered against him. “It’s all right.”  
But there was a lie in his words; it wasn’t all right, it never would be. 

It was a disaster; he may have had the best older brother in the world, a kindly figure who would do anything for him, and it was his own greed and stupidity and perversity which couldn’t be satisfied with that. Maybe they’d laugh about this one day, when Kristoph had settled down and married, when he himself was drifting about in a haze of sex and drugs and rock and roll, still longing for the only person who’d ever understood him, the only one who never got sick of him and his outlandish antics---  _Remember when I was all emotional after that first trial and Wright was disbarred for forging evidence and I kissed you?_

“It’s not all right,” Klavier murmured—“It’s fucked up.”

It was rare for him to swear in front of Kristoph; he’d always taught him that foul language was the vestige of someone who lacked the vocabulary and creativity to know what to say. But  _fucked up_  was right now; the words fitted the situation perfectly; they were raw and confronting and harsh and held the understanding of human knee-jerk response, there was no polite, sanitised way to describe this.

Maybe Kristoph understood all too well; he didn’t chide him for his vulgarity, he didn’t pull back and ask him to find another way to describe what he just had—he merely held him, the eternal rock, his support.

He didn’t expect to feel Kristoph’s lips pressing against his own, meeting his for an awkward, chaste little kiss as his had done before. Was this an attempt to comfort him, to reassure him that this instance of  _fucked up_ -ness was forgiven—or was it something  _else_? He hated how right it felt, how gentle and shatteringly perfect it was, how the girls he’d dated and the boys he’d fooled around with hadn’t understood and moved like that against him. He could feel a hand running through his hair, Kristoph’s cheek rubbing against his own—and definitely more tears now—and the uncomfortable pull of his pants growing tighter. Why now, why him, why not someone--  _anyone_ \-- else?

“I think it’s time for bed now,” Kristoph murmured softly, his voice still laced with sadness; “We can discuss this later if you wish...”

Neither of them made any effort to move away from the other, until Kristoph’s hold on him slackened once more, and he shifted away gradually. 

“There isn’t anything to discuss, Kristoph,” Klavier said quietly. “I—love you. That’s all that needs saying.” His face was hot and angry with humiliation, with recognition of just what a mess the situation was, with rejection and heartbreak. They couldn’t discuss this at a later date; not while things were like this, while there would always be that wretched sense of longing...

“Goodnight, bruderlein,” Kristoph said quietly. He leaned in once more to kiss him again, a soft, parental sort of forehead kiss. “Off to bed now.”

He remained on the sofa, gathering his thoughts as Klavier obediently stood up, and with slow movements, and a terminally  _pained_  expression on his face, his eyes hurt and haunting, he stepped away, heading around the corner to the guest room. 

When he was gone, Kristoph switched on a lamp behind him, turning to the collection of bottles and glasses in the end book shelf; a makeshift bar due to space reservations in his small apartment—found the gin, and poured himself a glass. It was foolish and futile; they’d only been drinking champagne up until now—while he hated the taste himself, he’d bought Bollinger to mark the special occasion—to toast his little brother’s victory. It had all been planned so beautifully, so flawlessly and perfectly—and it had ended like  _this_?

He took a swig from the glass. He didn’t usually gulp down spirits, preferring to savour the taste—drinking for the effect and not the enjoyment wasn’t his style at all. But the mood of the night had changed; it now called for this style of desperate, pathetic drinking.

There’d been no push or manipulation for Klavier to behave like that; he’d always assumed he’d managed to keep his own longing under wraps, that Klavier blissfully and naively didn’t  _know_. But now he wondered; he recalled memories of events, little snowglobe moments—Klavier’s affection at times where it had seemed excessive or bordering on inappropriate—was it a test of his own will from the universe, or was it something more now—Klavier almost tempting him to respond or not? He’d not thought of it that way until now, thinking himself a monster for his urges and want, having privately decided that whilst they shared secrets and space, that was one thing Klavier would never be granted access to.

It was ironic, in a bitter, sickening sort of way.

He took another gulp of gin—when had it started? Years ago. Too long ago. Klavier had always hinted to some degree that he was bisexual—the way he never spoke about  _girls_  specifically but  _people_ , then there was the suggestion that he’d never really linked  _love_  to the notion of  _sex_ \-- sex was throwaround rock-and-roll pleasure, love was something sacred and serious and reserved for some mysterious  _someone_  worthy of his affections. 

He finished the glass. 

Just last week there’d been taunting and brotherly back-and-forth discussion bordering on the inappropriate; in hindsight it was no longer innocent curiousity—“Would you believe that I’m still a virgin, Kristoph? Oh, it’s not like I haven’t had my chances, just that I like the idea of my first time being special...” 

 _A sensible notion_ , Kristoph had replied, avoiding his eyes, pretending he was busy with the case, his mind already wishing Klavier would just  _find_  that special someone allowing him merciful closure. His love for his brother could allow for that; if Klavier just paired himself off with someone he deemed important enough, he earnestly believed his interest would become invested in seeing them happy together rather than subconsciously deeming the other competition. He’d laughingly suggested Daryan at one stage—they’d been friends for years, they knew one another so well, Daryan wouldn’t blackmail him should the Gavinners’ careers take off. A dark shadow of jealousy had pooled in his mind, though—if Daryan, or anyone  _else_  even  _threatened_  blackmail, he would quite happily, quite honestly bring about their demise.

Then there’d been the rage about the tattoo. He’d gotten it during the time when Klavier had been away, Daryan and he had consumed a bottle of something and confident on alcohol and that youthful sense of immortality, they’d arrived at a seedy tattooist who’d requested no proof of age or sobriety. He’d returned home to proudly pull down his pants and show off the red-tinged “G” design over his left buttock, he’d complained about it itching and the pain, asking his big brother what to do for relief.  
Kristoph remembered sourcing aftercare cream and dutifully applying it at Klavier’s requests, inwardly cursing him that he had to get the damned thing in the first place, wondering why he couldn’t have just marred one of his shoulders or an ankle instead. “No one’s going to see it,” he commented, applying the cream and watching it glisten—“ _Maybe not_ ,” Klavier had replied coyly.

Now these moments had taken on a deeper, darker meaning. Moving through to the kitchen and rinsing the glass before the temptation to continue drinking came upon him, he walked through to his bedroom, leaving the lights off, wondering how his little brother was sleeping in the next room.

He showered and dried himself off, his sense of discomfort not easing, wondering to himself if he shouldn’t have just taken the chance, failed the test which had been presented to him. He’d behaved responsibly, he was always the responsible one—even though the world seemed to be conspiring against him. There was nothing he wouldn’t do for Klavier, even if it meant keeping his dark secret hidden—it was right, it was  _appropriate_ \-- he thought, wondering how he’d somehow managed to fail to pass that on to the one person he actually loved and could influence.

He stared at his naked form in the mirror as he dried, his already hardening cock gaining his attention and a wry smile. It had been  _years_  since he’d given in to the weakness of desire—he recalled secret meetings with a married professor during his days at college, the man who’d called him  _engel_  and who’d been transfixed by his pale hair and intense gaze and his quiet, dignified demeanour; he remembered the call to the escort service and the beautiful awkward blonde he’d treated himself to for one evening after a particularly gruelling case had come to a close and he could find release, the way the young man had murmured a woman’s name when he came. 

He recalled the substitution, somehow managing to seduce an intoxicated Daryan for long enough to receive a blowjob when Klavier had been out and Daryan had shown up at his apartment unexpectedly with the line that “Mom and Dad don’t want me around any more.” He hadn’t questioned, there’d been a few drinks and it had been release for the both of them, and he’d closed his eyes and tangled his hands in Daryan’s hair, trying to force himself to imagine it to be blonde and silken, not harsh and dry with hairspray and years of dye.

He switched the light off, torn between disgust and arousal. Then there was the questioning: just  _why_  did Klavier proclaim to be interested in him like that: what was his interest and his motivation? It seemed almost too coincidental for Klavier and he to be on the same page; lightning never striking in the same place and all that. He sighed and crawled through to his room, switching the ensuite light off, grateful for the darkness where he could lie back and fantasise to his dark, twisted heart’s content.

 

 

The realisation that he wasn’t alone made him jump. His body had hit the mattress, his hand had rested between his legs, and then came the realisation; when Klavier had been asked for go to bed, he’d not headed to his own, but to  _his_. And he was still awake, and now tense and scared, worried that his brother realising his presence was going to have less-than-wonderful effects.

“What are you doing here,  _bruder_?” His voice was hard and angry. “I asked you, if I recall correctly, to go to  _bed_.”

“I  _did_ ,” Klavier muttered. “You didn’t specify which one.”

“ _Bruder_.” He sat up, knees tenting the sheets and the eiderdown as he turned to Klavier. “You cannot sleep here.” Was he saying it out of concern for his brother’s welfare or terrified that his own will would falter?

“Why not? I always used to sleep in bed with you, Kristoph. What’s changed?”

“The discussion we had in the living room.” He sighed. “It would not be appropriate.”

Klavier didn’t move. He merely snuggled into the sheets, hands gripping a pillow tightly, face pressed into it, inhaling that strangely comforting Kristoph smell. “Fuck appropriate,” he sniffled.

“Klavier...” resting a hand on his shoulder—that was just a gentle, brotherly gesture, wasn’t it?—“This cannot continue...”

“Fuck you,” Klavier spat. “And fuck your hypocrisy.”

Kristoph inhaled sharply in the darkness. “Language, Klavier,” he tried to say evenly, hearing the damning crack in his own voice, feeling his body tensing with aroused betrayal. 

“I know you’ve been looking at me,” Klavier snapped. “I’ve seen you—I’m not stupid. I used to lie awake in bed and wonder if I’d subconsciously absorbed that, too, that I only wanted it because you did, like you’d somehow shaped my thinking that much and...” He was crying again. “I know it’s fucked up,” he murmured. “Don’t you think I’ve spent long enough hating myself for it, wondering what the hell is so wrong with me that I can’t just be like everyone else—or be someone else—be Daryan...” He stopped short there, and Kristoph knew precisely what was coming. He braced himself, inhaling deeply again, torn between wanting to offer comfort and concern, wanting to just send him  _out_  and wanting things he knew he shouldn’t.

“I know about that, too,” he hissed. “My  _best friend_ ,  _bruder._  Of course he’s going to talk—and I think that was when I started realising that it wasn’t you, it was me, that I shouldn’t have been wanting...”

“I’m sorry.” Kristoph lay back against the mattress and sighed. “I’m sorry, Klavier...” He longed to offer something more than a weak apology; for the first time he could recall, words had evaded him. He reached over and instinctively offered a hug, unsure now what the context and his own motivation was, just longing to somehow fix it and make the hurt go away. 

“It was never my intention to hurt you...”

“I know,” Klavier said quietly. “That’s what makes it worse in a way.”

Kristoph sighed, leaning into him, nuzzling his face into the mess of scruffy blonde hair and tear-streaked skin. “I love you,” he murmured, no longer aware of what he meant by that, tormented by the juxtaposition of Klavier Gavin, his little brother whom he longed to protect and look after, Klavier Gavin, his sometimes irritating little brother, and Klavier Gavin, the young man confessing inappropriate desires towards him, and... _Klavier Gavin_ , this person so similar to him in appearance and shared experiences, having a maturity beyond his years yet still clinging to childlike naivete, and of course being haunted by the same dark shadows which ignored the consequences of social and legal taboos. 

The fact that Klavier felt similarly towards him did not make him feel less of a monster, rather, it heightened the lack of control he was concerned about, it pushed and pulled at him, daring him to remain the adult, laughing at him as his body reacted as he didn’t want it to and his mind concocted dozens of inappropriately arousing scenarios. 

“I love you too,” Klavier murmured, snuggling against his brother again, holding him tightly. He allowed a hand to trail down against bare, freshly-washed skin. He felt smooth and warm and perfect. 

The gesture wasn’t lost on Kristoph, who mentally chided himself for not putting an end to it. But his touch felt nice; sweet and inquisitive. He wondered if Klavier was usually like this; he’d expected him to be more brazen and cocky and confident, to be louder and more careless. His hand moved down lower, mapping out his skin, running over his buttocks and then—

There was a satisfied giggle from him as he realised Kristoph’s erection. 

“Look,” he murmured, dragging Kristoph’s hand across to his own. “It’s not just you.” 

Kristoph gulped. He didn’t want this—no, he  _did_  want this, that was precisely the problem, he wanted that which he wasn’t meant to want; he’d been found out, he couldn’t deny it—all he could do was shift away as he felt Klavier’s lips against his neck and the whine in his voice—had it occurred to Klavier that while  _he_  might have no problem with this, his older brother might not be so open minded? 

He shifted slightly. “Klavier,” he warned, affectionately stroking his back now, wondering when his brother had started sleeping naked—or was this just a show for  _him_ \-- “This is...” His protest was starting to feel weaker and his body more insistent.

“What you want, too,” Klavier continued, brushing a hand over his cock. “I realise that now—and...” 

Kristoph could feel his hand tentatively trying to stroke him. The movement was so delicate and slight that it was frustrating, and he bucked his hips, urging himself into Klavier’s hand. 

“It’s wrong,” he mumbled with another thrust, “It breaches legal and social taboos, it could compromise our situation and our careers...”

“Only if someone talks about it,” Klavier said more confidently, increasing the pressure of his hand. “And wouldn’t you prefer my first time to be with someone you know and trust...?”

 _I don’t trust anyone_ , Kristoph thought angrily.  _Especially not myself._

“I can’t do this to you, Klavier,” he murmured, trying to pull away from that tantalising grip. “This is...  _wrong_.” His voice was weak and instead of being choked in horror, it was a semi-strangled yelp of desire and contradictions .  _Stop. Don’t stop. Yes. No. This is so wrong... but the only thing that could be right..._

“It’s always been wrong,” Klavier panted, guiding Kristoph’s other hand to his chest—his  _chest_ , nothing lower—if Kristoph  _wanted_  to do anything else, he could damn well do it himself, otherwise, he was fine just stroking him like this, feeling fingertips on his skin. “And it will always  _be_  wrong, won’t it?” He sounded so naive and earnest, and smiled to himself in the darkness as he heard Kristoph’s breath catch somewhere as he ran a finger over the head of his penis. 

“Yes,” murmured Kristoph. “It’s... wrong, bruderlein.”

“But it was wrong when I was skipping class and lying at home in bed listening to German death metal and jerking off thinking of you, wasn’t it?” he argued. “It was wrong when I’d accidentally open the bathroom door whilst you were showering... It was  _wrong_  how I kept asking you to look after my tattoo...”

“So there  _had_  been a point to the desecration of your body?” Kristoph murmured. “I always wondered why you couldn’t ask Daryan to assist you with that.”

“Because I wanted you, Kristoph.” He withdrew his hand abruptly. “I know it’s wrong—but knowing it’s wrong doesn’t make it go away.”

Kristoph sighed. “I wish I could not agree with you,” he mumbled. “I wish there weren’t legal issues...”

“It’s a victimless crime,” Klavier mumbled, shifting himself so that Kristoph’s fingertips brushed against his cock.

“I’d like to think I’ve taught you better than to use that line of reasoning,” Kristoph admonished him, “the only people who talk about victimless crimes are those engaging in reprehensible acts which are understandably illegal.”

Klavier chuckled nervously. “Most people would find this reprehensible,” he said. “But most people don’t understand.” He moved in towards Kristoph again, his warm breath ghosting over the bare skin on his neck. “It can’t get more wrong than this and it won’t go away.” There was pain in his voice and he sighed miserably. “Just make it better, Kristoph... just stop the longing...”

He pressed his lips to Kristoph’s neck violently then, close to biting him, causing his older brother to moan loudly. There was such clumsiness in the gesture, it was so desperate and teenage and yet undeniably sexual—he was surprised when Kristoph finally relaxed against him, bringing his lips to his own and kissing him gently but passionately, his resolve broken, undisclosed desire finally breaking the surface. To hell with right and wrong; Klavier had made himself perfectly clear; he himself had been found out; it was wrong but somehow so wrong that it was right—

“I don’t want to hurt you, bruderlein,” he muttered, teeth clenching as Klavier stroked him again. “If you’ve never—“

“You won’t,” Klavier whispered. “You couldn’t.” He kissed him again, reassuring and bolder now, his mouth opening over Kristoph’s and his tongue meeting his in sublime, perfect bliss. It was strange kissing him like this: for years there’d been Kristoph’s quiet affection, the little forehead kisses and the gentleness; now this was something else, the innocence replaced entirely with something else; not unpleasant, but unexpectedly adult. 

He felt his older brother’s groan in his mouth, could feel fingertips moving below, to just over where he’d been tattooed, tracing over him as though remembering, and then delving between his buttocks, stroking him softly.

“More,” Klavier mumbled. He moved awkwardly, shifting his hips upwards towards Kristoph’s finger, readying himself for another kiss.

“Wait,” Kristoph said quietly. Moving out from Klavier’s grip, he nudged the touch lamp on his bedside table, and opened the drawer beneath it, riffling through one-handedly for lubricant and condoms. 

In his fantasies, it had tended to be darker; Klavier whined and begged and pleaded, he was already familiar with sex, he wasn’t this awkward and unconditioned... or this trusting. Reality had been superimposed over the fantasy and it wasn’t as seamlessly pleasant, it wasn’t all about  _his_  desires any more, but the human reality, the feel and touch of the Klavier who was here and now was so much better anyway. Wrong as this was, he reminded himself, the chiding voice in his head much softer, lost amongst the tension and amazement-- fishing out the lubricant and turning back to face his wide-eyed brother.

The light had changed things; it gave Klavier a moment to sit up and look at Kristoph, to take in the milky pale naked skin and the fine, long hair draped over one shoulder, the flicker of serious blue eyes which still seemed uncompromising and solemn despite the circumstances. He was both relieved and apprehensive; calm and curious; he had  _some_  sort of idea of how it worked and was willing himself to relax, to not do anything embarrassing, to just... move with it all, he supposed. 

Had he expected things to come to this? Not really; it was a surreal and dubious sort of hope which had suddenly been made real. But this was Kristoph, his brother, his carer, his teacher—their relationship had crossed so many boundaries that it was almost a strange kind of reasonable that it should cross this one, too. 

Staring at the face similar to his own, the golden blonde hair which had matched his up until a few months before when he’d unceremoniously hacked it off, and his expressive, serious blue eyes, he wondered if this was, in part, narcissistic want, if his desire for Kristoph was based around the fact that he was beautiful, and he resembled him so much.

He glanced down, eyes running over Kristoph’s body, uncertain as to whether he preferred the light on or off. Here, he could see what he was doing, he could be reminded of his depravity—but he could also see the details in Kristoph, it gave the noises he made more context, it heightened the experience. He watched as Kristoph tore a condom from the strip and opened it, discarding the wrapper on the floor for the moment and shifted himself up against the headboard, waiting. 

“Move around this way,” he told Klavier softly, directing him with his hands so he was almost sitting astride him. “like you’re about to sit on my lap facing me.” He smiled in the half light as he unrolled the condom over his length, but there was tension in his voice. “Are you... sure...?”

Klavier nodded solemnly, leaning in, gripping tightly around his brother’s chest with one hand and pressing the other up onto the headboard. His fingers ran along the wood idly, in an effort to distract himself. Would he be this nervous if it was someone else? Possibly—there was at least trust and familiarity in this situation—fucked up, like he’d stated earlier—as it was. 

“Are you all right, Klavier?”

“Yes.” He was worried that he sounded nervous because he  _did_  sound nervous; he was worried that he sounded stupid and inexperienced and that some part of him would lose his nerve at entirely the wrong moment. He was worried that he would somehow disappoint or horrify his brother, that he’d regret this, that somehow everything had changed too quickly and that maybe the frustration of unspoken desire was better than whatever was about to happen. 

In  _his_  fantasies, things had not been this deliberate and tentative; Kristoph had unabashedly and ruggedly taken him, there’d been no room for discussion and for talking over the fact that what they were doing was illegal and immoral and yet seemed so  _right_ \-- he’d somehow written it off as another of Kristoph’s lessons and life experiences imparted, but it just hadn’t seemed this damned  _awkward_.

“Relax,” Kristoph murmured as a finger slicked with lubricant slid over him. “Tell me if you feel uncomfortable or...”

“I’m all right,” Klavier said quietly. He leaned in closer, propping himself up against Kristoph, his knees pushing into the mattress, another thought occurring to him. “I’m not too heavy for you, am I?”

“Nein, Schatz...” The reassuring, weirdly childish nickname, the one he’d be called when crying about skinned knees or a schoolyard fight with a friend had now taken on a different tone. And he’d reverted to his mother tongue; it was strange how he seemed to slip in and out of speaking German—unlike himself, it was rare for Kristoph to drop German phrases amongst his English, he thought in black and white; it was either all or nothing. But when they were alone, the lines blurred and there was an uncertainty to what he was. 

“Good.” He smiled again and pushed his face towards his brother, closer now, too close to see the expression on his face, and opened his mouth, caressing the curve of his ear with his lips, mumbling quietly and incoherently. He knew enough to know that  _he_  liked it himself when people did that, and that it didn’t matter what they said; it  _felt good_  and that was all that mattered. He thought about all the times he’d  _nearly_  had sex, and there were many; but something had always pulled him back. 

Sentimentality? The vaguely romantic notion that his first time had to be special and memorable? This was further than he’d gone before, and he wondered if he was going to pull back now as he felt slippery fingers rubbing his cock and causing little rumbles of pleasure to escape him. He shifted back slightly, to hear Kristoph offering muffled encouragement as his fingers brushed over him, taunting him as though about to do something, but not quite. 

“That’s it,” Kristoph murmured, the voice smooth and even and soft. “Just... like that.” Klavier shifted again, trying to position himself better, hoping for Kristoph’s fingers to push into him—and when he felt it, and the hand on his cock moving faster now, he moaned again, a high-pitched, out-of-control mewl which he wasn’t expecting.

“I didn’t hurt you, Klavier?” Kristoph offered carefully, “Did I?”

“Nein.” His voice was low with approval and want and speed, he was shocked at his own automatic reactions and he shifted again, feeling Kristoph’s fingers move deeper into him. It was different when it was someone else doing it, he reasoned, different and... he gasped as he felt another join them; there was an unexpected jolt of pain and then nothing as Kristoph pulled back. “Are you all right?” he asked nervously.

“Yes,” Klavier muttered, “It’s just... different...” He was surprised at how nervous he sounded, how incoherent and out of control he was. “Don’t stop,” he whined. “It’s meant to...”

Kristoph pulled him close once more, murmuring against him; pained and longing and guilty and lost, his words and breath caught up in one against Klavier’s face. His tongue darted out to flicker at sweat-moistened skin, his free hand massaging the back of his neck as his mouth found Klavier’s and he silenced the little mewls and pants and complaints and uncertainties by pressing his lips to his brother’s, sliding his tongue against Klavier’s, and nipping lightly at his bottom lip while his fingers shifted and moved into him once more, recognising the way he was relaxing.

He moved once more, his hand drifting down and repositioning Klavier over his crotch, his fingers curling around his cock, stroking and squeezing gently. He brushed himself along Klavier’s entrance and tensed; nervous that desire would overtake practicality and brotherly concern, that his selfish want would cause him to hurt rather than pleasure him—tentatively moving against the warmth and wetness of his skin, he heard the deep rumble of a moan against his mouth, felt Klavier shifting wantonly against him, and suddenly moved into him.

He felt Klavier tense then, his body flinching away momentarily as a slight yelp escaped him; it was unexpected, yes, and there was a pang of horror at the regret his envisioned racing through his brother’s mind; the reality finally reaching him.

Instead, Klavier pulled away slightly, eyes clenched shut for the moment, biting down onto his bottom lip as though in concentration, and all Kristoph could do was force himself not to move and ruin it, to let Klavier dictate the pace. He breathed through his nose, desperate to distract himself lest his own desires manifest in a way which was... selfish, and there was another whimper from Klavier as he pushed against him, eyes still shut but breathing deeply, concentrating and lost somewhere.

It took every last reserve of concentration and control not to just forget, to be selfish, to thrust deeply into that warm and inviting flesh, to tempt other surprised noises from Klavier’s lips, to ensure that he would most definitely have a memorable first time. Instead, Kristoph felt his leg cramp slightly, and almost grateful for the distraction, he moved around, Klavier shifting once more and opening his eyes slowly, a murmur breaking free from him and a muffled 

“ _Verdammt_ ” somewhere under his breath.

“Are you all right, Schatz?” he leaned up toward him once more, the strokes against Klavier’s leaking cock slowing as his hand regained its hold and balance against his back, strong and firm and holding him there, refusing to let him slump.

“ _Yes..._ ” There was a satisfactory, breath-taken note to his voice now, which made Kristoph inhale sharply, his lips kissing Klavier’s cheek softly, the saltiness of sweat and –tears—when had he been crying?—randomly taking him by surprise—his body rocking against his brother’s tentatively. When Klavier didn’t complain, he grew bolder, thrusting against him to elicit a louder, deeper moan from him, and a strange, contented smile from him. 

He moved his mouth lower, kissing down Klavier’s jawline, feeling the younger man’s movement growing more confident, willing himself to distraction through kissing and licking at beautiful, smooth, sun-golden skin, pert, hardened nipples (and the moan and the way Klavier threw his head back, one hand clinging to Kristoph’s hip, the other grabbing a handful of bedsheets) and then stopping, trailing his kisses upwards again as Klavier grew bolder and more insistent.

“Is... this...?” struggling for control, for reassurance, Klavier’s words were lost amongst heavy breaths and movement. Suddenly aware of how out of control he was, how much he’d wanted this—how much Kristoph had attempted to do what was meant to be the right thing and... “Are...  _you_ \-- okay—bruder?”

“Ich bereue nichts,” Kristoph whispered against his ear, a satisfied smile in his voice and stifled breath hissing out his nostrils. “You?”

Klavier said nothing but smiled coyly, clumsily turning his head an his lips towards his brother’s face.

“I love you,” he murmured softly, closing his eyes once more and pressing a kiss against Kristoph’s mouth,  “ _Thankyou_.” 

It was all the answer either of them needed, a surreal kind of permission to continue. Kristoph gripped Klavier tightly, a hand grabbing for his hair as the other stroked him more harshly; he thrust into him again, the reaction from Klavier—the way he gasped and jolted and seemed momentarily winded as his body became heavy—causing him to draw in his own breath in a last ditch attempt to control himself.

  
“ _Fuck_ ,” murmured Klavier; a pathetic whine as he bucked down against his brother, his skin prickling, his knees wobbling somewhere at his sides, his vision strangely clouded and—

He felt moist breath and the words “ _That’s it, that’s it_ ” repeated in a prayerlike, furious manner against one ear, furtive fingertips and perfect nails pinching at a nipple, Kristoph’s hand rubbing him frantically-- and then his body explode with a kind of bliss he couldn’t describe; there was Kristoph kissing at the side of his neck, everything felt sticky and warm, and... relieved and relaxed and sore but not quite.

He fell against Kristoph, moaning with the release and shudder of orgasm; there were a few more pathetic thrusts from Kristoph and then his body slackened, relaxing into his, their lips meeting, murmurs of all the half-sensical things they could only speak of now emerging from them, hands in hair and then them falling, sweaty and sticky and sated, against the mattress and one another.

 

 

Klavier shifted away slightly. He could have been needing to cool down, to leave the heat of his brother's body for a moment, to contemplate heading for the shower, but he did none of these things. Clutching the sheets balled up in his hands, he curled into them, a caterpillar preparing a cocoon. 

Things were--  _had_ \-- he reminded himself-- changed.  _Forever_. What the hell was he metamorphosing into?

He could feel warm arms, Kristoph's paler skin covering his, stroking his back as he shuddered softly. He was crying again; why, he wasn't sure. Somehow, it had been perfect, he'd felt perfect for a few seconds, everything felt right in the world, and then the reality of what he'd doing caved in on them in the afterglow.

"Bist du in Ordnung?" Kristoph's hands ran through his hair, and he flinched away suddenly.

"Klavier..." There was a soft, gentle kiss pressed to the back of his neck and he wasn't sure what it meant any more-- the Kristoph he'd dealt with prior to the floodgates being opened like this would have done it in affection, not a possibly romantic gesture, not in post-coital thanks.

"This is so fucked up," he said quietly. He couldn't turn to face his brother, there was a feeling of revulsion rising up within him; he hated himself for feeling like this, for his own hypocrisy, and he hated himself for liking the way Kristoph's hands and lips-- and  _all_  of Kristoph felt-- and he hated himself for hating Kristoph for not managing to make it stop. If it had only been one of them, it would have been okay, wouldn't it?

"Language, Klavier," Kristoph's voice murmured sadly, "How else can you say that?" There was an almost sarcastic bent to what he was saying, like manners an social graces were futile here and now and he was just as aware of it as Klavier was; they'd crossed into no man's land, a place neither of them should have found, but they  _had_ , and they were lost.

And clinging, inappropriately now, to one another.

"I can't," he said with a sniffle. "Can  _you_ , Kris?"

"Nein," came his brother's voice. His body moved in against him once more, and he could feel touch; soft, sweet, gentle and above all--  _loving_  caresses against his bare skin. 

"I'm not sure if my not regretting it makes it better or worse," Klavier murmured.

"I'm not sure if not stopping this makes me a monster or not," Kristoph murmured back. 

He could feel Klavier's hand creeping behind him to awkwardly stroke his lower back. "I love you, Kris," he muttered with a sad sleepiness. "Is it okay if I stay in here?"

Nodding, Kristoph withdrew his hand from his brother's hair and answered the question by pulling the sheets over Klavier's body and sighing.

He shifted away, facing the wall in the opposite direction. "I love you too, Klavier," he murmured to himself.


End file.
